


providence loves you

by nightswatch



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Anxiety, Fluff, Jack didn't go to Samwell AU, Lost Phone AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 19:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8339914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: Bitty loses his phone. He dies (approximately) a thousand deaths when he finds out that it's Jack Zimmermann who found it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Look, Jack went to a different college in this fic and I know pretty much nothing at all about colleges in America, I literally only went to community college for like half a year, which is why I sent Jack to some random New England college with an ice hockey team. Forgive me. 
> 
> Please also forgive me for writing a bakery fic for a fandom that's like 99% bakery fics. (I know this is a horrible exaggeration, but anyway. Enjoy the fic.)

 October 22nd is the date of Eric Richard Bittle’s death. Metaphorically, at least.

“Just dig me a flippin’ grave,” Bitty says as he shuffles into the bakery and sinks onto one of the empty chairs.

He’s met with concerned looks from his colleagues.

Honestly, this day has barely even started and he’s ready to go straight back to bed.

*

It’s barely eight and Jack’s day has already descended into a mess. Not a bad mess. It’s just an issue that has come up unexpectedly. An issue that is messing with his routine.

He’s currently in possession of a phone that doesn’t belong to him.

He got up at the same time as he does every day and checked his phone, he changed into his running gear, went downstairs, talked to Mrs. Moore and spent a minute saying good morning to her Golden Retriever.

Jack has been thinking about adopting a dog. And not just because his mother suggested it.

“Sometimes I’m worried that you get lonely in this big apartment of yours,” she said when she was in Providence with Jack’s dad. They were here for the first game of the season. 

His parents wouldn’t bug him about dating, at least that he can count on. But Jack frowned at her, because, well, she’d helped him pick this apartment, she’d agreed that it was just right for him.

“Maybe you could get a dog?”

“Or a goldfish,” his dad muttered and winked at him.

Jack doesn’t need a dog. Or a goldfish. Or anything to make his apartment feel less empty.

Admittedly, it does look a little empty at first glance. Jack doesn’t leave his stuff lying around; he doesn’t even have that much stuff. His mom bought him a plant that he doesn’t remember watering at any point during the last two weeks. And even though the thought of getting a pet has been growing on him, it’s probably not the right time for that now.

The season has barely started and he has to focus. And he doesn’t want to be responsible for the death of a goldfish.

 _Hockey shouldn’t be_ everything _, Jack. You need some kind of balance._

Jack understands that. He’s been trying let other things into his life. He goes out with his teammates, he does his best to keep up with his college friends, he walks around the neighborhood and peers into stores.

Jack signed with the Falconers a little over two years ago and moved to Providence right after he graduated, but he still doesn’t feel like he actually _lives_ here. He doesn’t know the people who live across the street. He doesn’t have a favorite restaurant. He’s never been to the bakery down the street. Mrs. Moore keeps telling him to get himself a cupcake there; apparently they put some new items on the menu not too long ago and the entire neighborhood fell in love with that bakery all over again. It’s been weeks since Mrs. Moore first brought it up and Jack still hasn’t set foot inside.

He’s peered inside through the big window, decorated with spiders and cobwebs and cauldrons for Halloween. The place is always packed. Which is why Jack is so reluctant to actually go in.

But he’s found other things to keep himself occupied with. He did some charity work over the summer. Visited his parents in Montreal for a week. A few months ago, after several nudges from his therapist, he unearthed his old camera from a box. It’s the one his dad bought him before he left for college – “Make some good memories, eh?” Sometimes he takes it along when he walks around the neighborhood.

Anyway.

That phone.

He found it towards the end of his morning run. He was already on his way back to his apartment when he saw something glint in a patch of grass next to the sidewalk. It was a phone, fairly new by the looks of it. Jack isn’t well-versed in technology; he doesn’t understand why people buy new phones when they already have one that works perfectly well.

He picked it up because he could hardly leave it lying next to the sidewalk, right? What if someone took it? Well, _he_ took it, but he intends to give it back.

He just has to figure out how to find the person it belongs to. He’s already given the home button a try, but all that gave him was a lock screen, today’s date, the time, and a picture of a pop star in the background. Jack is fairly sure that it’s Beyoncé, but he wouldn’t bet his life on it. There are still no texts or missed calls.

Hopefully the phone’s owner will notice that they’ve lost it soon. They’ll call. Jack will answer. He’ll give it back.

It’s a solid plan.

*

“What happened?”

“I lost my phone,” Bitty says. Whines. He feels like crying. He puts his hand in the pocket of his jacket, just to check one more time. His headphones are still there; he stuffed them in there alongside his phone just before he left his apartment. Then he hurried off to work, running late because of a failed early morning muffin experiment. And here he is, at work, without his phone.

That phone is his _life_.

“Well, shit. Did you go back and look for it?”

“I did, but I couldn’t see it anywhere…” Since Bitty was late for work already, he probably wasn’t as thorough as he should have been. Sally would have probably forgiven him for being a little late. Of course she would have, she loves him to bits – no pun intended.

“Eric, there you are.” Sally appears in the kitchen door, covered in flour. “We have some last minute pie orders.”

Anyway, he’ll just call and see if someone’s found it.

The last minute pie orders come first, though. He apologizes to Sally for being late until she waves it off and leaves him in the kitchen. Pies. He needs to make pies. Five pies. Before noon. He can do that.

Before he starts, he gives his phone a call, because he quickly realizes that he won’t be able to concentrate if he doesn’t at least try. It goes to voicemail.

Bitty puts on some music and tries not to think too hard about where is phone might be, what might have happened to it, who might have found it. Maybe it’s still right where it fell out of his pocket. Maybe someone found it. Maybe he’s never seeing that phone again.

He’ll definitely spend his break walking back to his apartment, retracing his steps, praying to the lost phone gods.

There’s a chance that he’ll get it back, right?

Anyway. A phone can be replaced. It’s not that big of a deal.

It’s just. Bitty doesn’t need this. All he wants is one week in which everything goes according to plan. He wants one week in which nothing goes wrong, in which he doesn’t want to cry about nothing in particular at the end of the day, in which he doesn’t have a minor (or major) freak-out about anything.

One normal week. It’s obviously too much to ask.

He hasn’t been in Providence for very long. Bitty still isn’t sure if he likes it.

Finding an apartment that wasn’t a hellhole and still somewhat affordable was a nightmare, his laptop broke half a week after he moved into his not-quite-a-hellhole, and his friends might as well be a million miles away. (Samwell is forty minutes from Providence, it’s not _that_ far. But it feels that far.)

Last weekend, when he thought he was going to straight up die because everything was just way too much, he visited his precious frogs, now seniors, and felt a little bit better because they were all so in awe of him having a job and an apartment and a _life_ , basically. Still. The life that he has is a huge mess.

It wasn’t Bitty’s lifelong dream to move to Providence, Rhode Island, once he was all grown up.

He just ended up here through something that he refuses to call fate. But it wasn’t him who found a job, it was the job that found him. Or, he should say, Sally found him. Turns out that Sally was one of his devoted viewers for a long, long time. She asked him if he was interested in working at her bakery and of course Bitty was interested, because if he’s really, really honest, he was never planning on going back to Georgia after college.

It sounds like a terrible cliché, but Sally made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. See, Sally owns this bakery. Sally and her wife don’t have kids. In two or three years, when Sally will, inevitably, retire, she wants someone to take over from her. She wants to see her bakery in good hands.

That’s where Bitty comes in.

If he wants it, this bakery is going to be his in two or three years. And, boy, does he want it to be his. It’s the most charming place, all polka dots and floral patterns. They have regulars who’ve taken a keen liking to Bitty’s pies. He can see himself here, a few years down the line, the sign out front reading _Bitty’s_.

He’s dreamt about this. Having his own bakery. Regulars he knows by name. A special pie for every day of the week. So maybe he hasn’t dreamt of Providence, Rhode Island, but the bakery was definitely part of his dreams.

And one day he’s going to move into an apartment that has absolutely no hellhole qualities, he’s going to adopt a cute dog, or maybe a cat, or maybe both, and he’s going to meet a nice boy who loves his pie, and he’ll live happily ever after.

All of this would be a lot easier if Providence didn’t hate his guts.

In all seriousness, Bitty knows that a city can’t hate people, but it sure as hell feels like it. Because Providence is the city he lost his phone in. That’s all the proof he needs.

He spends his lunch break walking back to his teensy apartment on the lookout for something shiny that could be phone screen. He finds a quarter. His phone isn’t there.

Once he gets back to the bakery, he gives calling it another try, but it once again goes to voicemail after a few rings. At least it isn’t off. There’s still hope.

“Still no luck?”

“Nope,” Bitty says as he shuffles out of the office and back into the kitchen. He makes some more pumpkin bread because they’re almost out, trying to think of anything other than his phone.

He fails miserably.

At least the pumpkin bread turns out all right.

*

Jack would lie if he said that he doesn’t spend all day thinking about the phone on his kitchen table. He didn’t take it to practice because it’s not like he would have heard it ring. It’s not like he could have taken it on the ice with him, waiting for its owner to call. Knowing that it’s at his place, where it definitely doesn’t belong, still makes him feel uneasy.

Tater and Snowy try to talk him into going out for dinner with them, but Jack quickly excuses himself and drives home faster than he ever has in his entire life. He just wants to get rid of that phone. Because it’s not his and its very presence in his apartment is enough to turn his anxiety up a notch.

He feels like everyone knows that he picked up a phone that doesn’t belong to him this morning and took it home with him. Everyone knows that he hasn’t done a single thing that might help him return that phone to its actual owner.

His apartment is quiet when Jack gets home. He wants to say that he enjoys the silence, but sometimes– _Maybe you could get a dog?_

Jack sighs. And who’s going to take care of that dog when Jack isn’t in town?

The phone is still right where he left it. On the kitchen table. Jack glares at it, as if that’s going to solve any of his problems.

He pushes the home button to see if anyone tried to call while he was at practice. There is a lot going on all over that lock screen. There’s the symbol for a missed call, text messages, the last two from someone called Shitty (what sort of name is _Shitty_?) and a little bird symbol that Jack knows belongs to Twitter. George has tried to talk him into making one. He refused.

Jack can’t even believe that he’s thinking this, but having some sort of online presence might actually help him find the owner of that phone. Maybe he should just google it. _What to do when you find a phone during your morning run._

He shakes his head. If that missed call is from the owner, they’ll probably try to call again. Then they can sort this out. Then Jack can give back that phone and stop feeling like he stole it. He knows that it’s completely irrational to even think that, the person who owns that phone won’t think that, but Jack would rather have this over and done with so he can move on with his life.

Jack makes dinner to distract himself. It’s nothing fancy; he’s never been much of a cook. It’s good enough for him, though.

He’s doing the dishes when the phone starts ringing. It’s a good thing that no one can see him trip over his own feet as he tries to get a dishtowel, quickly drying his hands as he stumbles over to the kitchen table to answer.

 _Home_ is calling.

“Hello?” Jack says. He sounds breathless. He’ll never be the president of the Phone Calls Fan Club. Talking to people he doesn’t know isn’t his favorite thing in the world. It’s fine when it’s people he knows. And usually he only gets calls from people he knows. His parents. His teammates. George.

There a brief silence at the other end of the line, then a guy says, “Hi, um, hello. You… have my phone. I think?”

“Well, it’s not _my_ phone,” Jack deadpans.

The guy coughs and it sounds a lot like stifled laughter. “So,” he says, “are you planning on giving it back?”

“I… yes, of course, I mean…” Jack realizes that he’s now tripping over his words instead of his feet, but this guy can’t seriously think that he wouldn’t give it back. He adds an, “Obviously,” just in case, and, “I found it during my morning run,” which basically translates to, _Please don’t think I stole it._ Not that a thief would answer the phone they stole.

“I gotta tell you, I’m so glad that a decent person found it, I spent half the day thinking that I’d never see that phone again.”

He’s from the south. Jack is definitely not an expert when it comes to accents, but he’s pretty sure that there isn’t a single person on the planet who wouldn’t notice this guy’s accent. “I’ll, uh… How do you want to do this?” Jack asks. “Do we arrange a meeting?”

Honestly, he’d rather not tell this guy to pick it up here. He sounds nice enough, but Jack values his privacy.

“Well, do you live somewhere close to where you found it?” He doesn’t wait for a reply, but barrels right on, “Because I work at Sally’s. You know, the bakery? I lost it on the way there. Maybe you could drop it off there? And I can give you a _thank you for finding my phone_ pie?

Sally’s. The bakery down the street. Looks like Jack finally has a reason to get himself a cupcake there. “Yeah, no problem.”

“You are an angel. Just ask for Eric, yeah?” The guy, Eric, lets out a puff of breath. “And, really, thank you so much. I owe you, like, a bazillion baked goods of your choosing. You’re my hero, I swear, and– What’s your name, by the way?”

“I’m Jack.”

“Well, Jack, thank you. So much.”

“It’s no big deal,” Jack says, because it really isn’t. He’s just glad that he can return that phone to its rightful owner. “I’ll swing by after practice tomorrow if that’s okay?” He could go before practice, but that would cut his morning run short.

“Practice? Are you a famous rock star or somethin’?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Aw, and there I was, all excited.”

Jack can’t help but laugh. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s just hockey.”

Eric doesn’t reply.

“Are you still there?”

“You play hockey?” Eric asks. His voice sounds a little higher than before. “Here in Providence? And your name is Jack?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. He thinks he knows where this is going. Eric just put two and two together. It doesn’t really matter. If he knows who Jack is, he would have recognized him tomorrow anyway. “I’m with the Falconers.”

“Oh my,” Eric says. “You’re… wow.”

“So you’re interested in hockey, eh?”

Eric giggles and it’s sort of… endearing. “I… yeah. I can’t believe this.”

Jack doesn’t really know what to say to that. Because. Well, it’s just him. And he’s still not really used to coming across people who are excited to meet him. “I, uh…”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Eric says quickly. “This is just so… weird. You’re all famous.”

“I wouldn’t say _famous_.”

“Please.”

“Well, I’m definitely not the rock star you were hoping for.”

“I’ll forgive you for that,” Eric says. Jack can hear the smile in his voice. He wonders what this guy looks like. He sounds so happy. “Oh, darn it…”

Jack has a feeling that that wasn’t directed at him. “You okay?”

“Yes, just… a little… kitchen incident. Nothing to worry about. This is the second batch of muffins I messed up today.”

“You’re baking?” Jack asks. Well, _duh_ , Eric works at a bakery.

“I’m just trying out new recipes, y’know? It’s not going very well, though.” Eric sighs. “At least I know that I’ll get my phone back.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” They’ve been talking for a lot longer than strictly necessary. He’s probably keeping Eric from his baking. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yes, right, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow. Take good care of my phone.”

“I will, I promise,” Jack says. “Bye, Eric.”

“Bye, Jack.”

*

Okay, so, the thing is, Bitty loves hockey. He loved playing hockey at Samwell; that team was his family. He loves watching games. He loves being on the ice. Loved. He hasn’t really had a chance to go skating ever since he graduated. He went up to Samwell to watch the frogs’ first game of the season and part of him was actually a little jealous that he wasn’t down there playing with them.

And since Bitty loves hockey, he also knows about Jack Zimmermann. He knows the story. Bitty played against him in college. He _won_ against him in college. He remembers Ransom and Holster freaking out in the locker room because they beat Jack Zimmermann’s team.

Jack Zimmermann, the guy who wouldn’t stop glaring at Bitty for a second during that game. Jack Zimmermann, who is already a hockey legend after two years in the NHL. Jack Zimmermann, who found Bitty’s phone.

Bitty nearly dropped dead when this random dude who’d found his phone turned out to be the one and only Jack Zimmermann. And now he’s going to come here. To the bakery. Today.

After practice.

Bitty has no idea when that will be, so he is, pre-emptively, nervous from the second he arrives at work. Actually, he’s nervous from the second he hangs up the phone after he talks to Jack. He’s nervous all night. He’s nervous when he gets up. He’s nervous when he walks to work.

Sally loves baseball, so when Bitty tells her that the Falconers’ Jack Zimmermann found his phone, she only says, “Ah, it’s great that someone found it, dear.”

Bitty is the only one who knows. He’s the only one who’s having yet another freak-out. And this one’s a major one.

Because Bitty hasn’t forgotten about all that glaring. Jack probably doesn’t even remember him. Why would he? That game was two years ago, just before Jack signed with the Falconers.

Anyway. Jack will bring over his phone and Bitty will hand him at least five thank you pies and that’ll be it. No reason to be nervous.

Bitty is in the kitchen all morning. It’s apple pie day and apparently his apple pie has become some sort of legend in the neighborhood. He’s really not complaining, it just means that they have to be prepared.

Today he doesn’t leave for lunch break. He has to be here whenever Jack shows up.

It’s after Bitty has sold Mrs. Fletcher from across the street a whole apple pie that the bell at the door jingles and Jack comes walking into the bakery. And he is. so. unbelievably. handsome. Bitty knew that, of course, but it’s even worse – better? – in person.

Jack nearly walks into Mrs. Fletcher as she leaves. He mumbles an apology and then his eyes find Bitty behind the register. His eyes are _ridiculous_. He’s not even anywhere near Bitty yet, but Bitty is already one step away from the grave. Because. Jack Zimmermann.

Bitty tries to steel himself, because a few seconds from now he’s actually going to talk to Jack. For real. Face to face. He’s not sure if he’ll survive.

Jack looks at him with a frown and then slowly makes his way over to the counter.

Bitty takes a deep breath.

_Rest in peace, Eric Richard Bittle, you had a good life._

*

Jack isn’t sure why, but he’s overcome with a strange sense of déjà vu when he walks into _Sally’s Bakery_. It’s not about the place itself. He’s never been in here. It’s the kid behind the counter. Jack could swear that he’s seen him before.

After running straight into an old lady – _very smooth, Jack_ – he makes a beeline for the counter. The guy at the register might be Eric. Actually, he’s sure that it’s Eric.

It’s something about the way he looks. He looks like the guy he talked to last night. It doesn’t make much sense, but Jack still remembers all that happiness in Eric’s voice, his giddiness, the smile on his face so apparent in the way he spoke. And this guy, he looks like personified sunshine.

“Are you Eric?” Jack asks.

“Yes, that’s me,” Eric says. His brown eyes are wide; his cheeks are pink. “I’m Eric.”

Jack pulls Eric’s phone out of his pocket. “Then this is yours.”

“Gosh,” Eric says and takes the phone from him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jack says. This is easily in the Top 10 of the most awkward conversations he’s ever had in his life. “I’m Jack, by the way. Although I suppose that’s–”

“I figured, I mean, I know.” Eric’s cheeks go even redder. He’s blushing. Because of Jack? Eric ducks his head. “You’re… yeah. Do you want pie?”

“Sure, why not,” Jack says. He’s already here, isn’t he?

“And coffee?”

Jack nods and takes a seat at the counter. He pulls out his wallet and asks, “How much–”

“No,” Eric says, shaking his head at him. “You’re not paying. You saved my phone. If anything, you can start thinking about what kind of thank you pie you want me to make for you.”

“Isn’t this the thank you pie?” Jack asks when Eric puts down a slice of apple pie in front of his nose.

Eric smiles at him. Jack doesn’t know what to do with that kind of smile. It’s radiant. And it’s directed at him.

“I would have made you a whole pie, you know?” Eric says. “Whichever one you want.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I insist. I make darn good pies.” Eric nods at the pie in front of Jack. “You’ll see.”

There’s a loud bang somewhere in the back – the kitchen maybe? – and Eric glares. And there it is again. Déjà vu. Jack almost wants to ask him. _Where have I seen you before?_

Instead Jack eats a bite of his apple pie. And Eric was right. Actually, what Eric said was an understatement. “This is… so good.” Which is also an understatement, but apparently Jack is the most awkward person on Earth and can’t think of anything better than _so good_.

Eric smiles, definitely pleased. He leaves Jack with his coffee and his pie when he’s needed at the register. Jack doesn’t take his eyes off him. _Can’t_ take his eyes off him. It’s just because he can’t figure out why he’s so sure that they’ve met before. But if they had, Eric would have said something, wouldn’t he?

He’s a hockey fan. Maybe Jack has seen him at a game?

“Can I ask you something?” Jack says when Eric returns to him. He pauses when Eric nods. It’s not hard to say. _Have we met before?_ Because he’s sure. He’s so sure that it scares him a little. “Why do you know someone called Shitty?” Jack eventually asks. Not what he meant to ask. And it isn’t much better, because now Eric knows that he’s been snooping.

Eric only laughs, though. “Oh, that’s just a nickname, we were on the same team and–” He blinks at Jack, his eyes so, so big. “Yeah, he’s a friend from college,” he adds and waves it off.

“You were on the same team?” Jack asks. “What team?”

“Wildcats,” Eric says, with a grin that’s a bit too broad.

Jack knows that he is supposed to understand that reference. It’s not the first time he hears it, but he still doesn’t know where it comes from and now is not the right time to ask.

When Jack doesn’t reply, Eric says, very quietly, “Samwell.”

 _Samwell_. Jack almost went to Samwell. He didn’t, in the end, because it’s the same college his mom went to and he didn’t want people to say that he only got in because of her. He went to Dartmouth instead. And he doesn’t regret it, not really. But to think that he might have been on the same team as Eric. And a guy called _Shitty_. Unless he was on the football team. Or some other team. Volleyball? Baseball?

Quite frankly, Eric doesn’t look much like a football player. He doesn’t actually look like a hockey player either, but– _Oh_. Jack remembers him now.

He remembers that game against Samwell. The one they lost. He remembers that their goalie was a menace. And he remembers the kid that was faster than lighting. Number 15. Bittle.

It’s him.

Jack is staring at him. He knows that he’s staring and he knows that it’s impolite to stare, but he can’t stop.

Eric fidgets. He clears his throat. “So, uh, I guess you remember, huh?”

“I do,” Jack says. He tilts his head. “Bittle. That’s you.”

“You even remember my _name_?”

Jack couldn’t even tell him why, but Bittle stayed with him in some way. Showed him a weakness he wasn’t really aware of at the time. He nods. “You’re fast.”

“Guess I am.”

“You won.”

“Guess we did.” A smile flits over Eric’s face. “But look who’s a big shot NHL player now.”

Jack is pretty sure that he’s blushing. He’s glad that Eric has to hurry back over to the register a second later so he doesn’t have to reply. Eric Bittle. He called his dad after that game against Samwell. Told him about the ridiculously fast kid. He can’t believe that they’ve run into each other again. Off the ice.

Part of him wants to ask Eric to skate with him sometime, but he just came here to give back Eric’s phone. That’s it.

Eric returns to him and refills his coffee. They talk about hockey. Eric refills his coffee again and puts a chocolate chip cookie on his empty plate. Jack finds himself wanting to stay, even though he should get home. He doesn’t have plans, but he usually doesn’t hang out at bakeries for hours on end.

Eventually he says, “Well, I should get going. Thanks for the pie, Bittle.”

“Oh, I’m _Bittle_ now?”

“That’s your name.”

“Eric is my name, too.”

Jack shrugs. This is the guy he played against in college. He’s the guy no one could keep up with. He might be working at a bakery now, but he’s still Bittle. Still number 15.

“Well, Jack, thanks for bringing back my phone,” Eric says. He sounds fondly exasperated. Something inside of Jack _melts_. “So what about your pie, then?”

“You seriously want to bake me an entire pie?”

“I always bake _entire_ pies.”

“I mean–” Jack sighs. “You don’t have to. Bringing back your phone, it wasn’t a problem.”

“Good. Baking you a pie won’t be a problem either.”

“Fine. How about pecan?”

Eric snorts.

“What?”

“That’s not how you pronounce pecan.”

“No, _that_ is not how you pronounce pecan.”

“Lord, Jack Zimmermann, get outta here,” Eric says. He hands Jack a cupcake. “Now, I know you have a game tomorrow, so when do you wanna pick up that pecan pie?”

“How about Monday?”

“Monday is good,” Eric says.

Jack almost asks him if he wants to come to the game tomorrow. Jack could get him tickets, he’s sure. But. He came here to bring back Eric’s phone. Not to invite him to a Falconers game.

Eric smiles at him when he gets up to leave. “See you, Jack.”

“See you, Bittle,” Jack says.

Eric’s smile gets broader by a fraction. “Y’know, my friends call me Bitty.”

“ _Bye_ , Bittle,” Jack only says.

Jack leaves, but now without stuffing a couple of bills into the tip jar by the register. Eric huffs at him. Jack ignores him. He tries not to look back at Eric through the big window out front. He does it anyway. Eric is watching him walk away and waves when he catches Jack looking.

Jack waves back.

*

Bitty isn’t usually on register duty. The kitchen is where he belongs and Sally understands that. He’s taking a batch of peanut butter cookies – they’re for Sally’s wife – out of the oven when Sally appears in the door and says, “I need you out front.”

“Huh?”

“Someone asked for you.” Sally’s smile has something devious about it. “It’s the really tall one. Stunning eyes. Always eats pie.”

Bitty puts down the cookies. Gently. He doesn’t drop them, which would have been far more appropriate, because _what_? “He… asked for me?” Jack has been coming here a lot lately but he’s never done that before.

Sally’s smile takes on something knowing. “Why don’t you take a break?”

“Ugh,” Bitty says and tugs off his apron. The thing is, when Sally tells you to take a break, you take a break. Even when the bakery is closing in half an hour and you’re supposed to clean up the kitchen.

Jack is sitting by the window with a cup of coffee and a half-eaten slice of pie.

The bakery is pretty much empty except for Sally’s best friend Ellie and her husband who are sharing a slice of Sally’s specialty chocolate cake. They both wave at Bitty and he shoots them a smile before he joins Jack.

He just keeps coming back here. After Bitty gave him his pecan pie and after they had another lengthy – and strangely enjoyable – discussion about the pronunciation of _pecan_ , Jack apparently made a habit of coming here. There’s an actual pattern to it. Jack always shows up the day after he comes back from an away game.

Except yesterday the Falconers played in Providence. Which is why Bitty says, “I wasn’t expecting you to show up today.”

“Hello, Bittle, it’s nice to see you, too.”

Bitty rolls his eyes at Jack and flops onto the chair across from him. “Good game yesterday.”

“Did you watch it?”

“‘Course I did.”

Jack looks at him for a long moment. Then he eats his last bite of pie.

“You asked for me,” Bitty says. It’s not a question. Sally wouldn’t say that Jack asked for him if he didn’t.

Jack glances at him through his lashes. “I just asked if you were around.”

Bitty’s heart does a badly executed somersault.

He knows himself. He knows what it feels like when he’s head over heels for someone. He’s not quite there yet, but he’s definitely getting there and it doesn’t help that Jack always looks at him like– He doesn’t even look at Bitty in a particular way. He just looks. That’s bad enough. 

Straight boys. One of them is going to kill him someday.

Chances are that it’ll be Jack Zimmermann.

“I mean,” Jack goes on, “I didn’t see you last week.”

Yep, it’ll definitely be Jack Zimmermann. Bitty sighs. “Yeah, I was knee-deep in the most ridiculous birthday cupcake order.”

“I bet they were great cupcakes.”

And Jack is _smiling_. He has such a sweet smile and it doesn’t make an appearance often enough. It’s a good thing that Jack has no idea what he’s doing to Bitty. He’d probably feel bad about it. And he’d probably also be really uncomfortable.

Bitty shifts in his seat.

“What?” Jack asks.

Bitty is just way too transparent, isn’t he? “Nothin’.”

“Come on,” Jack says. He’s still smiling, teasing.

And Bitty wants to kiss him so much, it’s not even funny. He shouldn’t be thinking about this anyway. He’s got a snowball’s chance in hell with Jack. “Well,” Bitty says, because he has to say something, “I’m just happy that you got over hating me so quickly.”

There’s something very complicated happening on Jack’s face right now. “Hating you?”

“When you played against us in college,” Bitty says, “you totally hated me.”

“I did not.”

“Yes, you so did. You didn’t stop glaring daggers at me for even just a second.”

“We were losing.”

“That’s a really terrible excuse.”

Jack puts down his fork and looks at Bitty and his eyes are so intense. Looking at people like that should be a crime. “I’m sorry I glared at you, Bittle,” Jack says and, gosh, he sounds so sincere about it. Then he smirks.

Bitty should probably start digging himself a grave. “It’s okay,” he says and reaches out to pat Jack’s arm. Then he smirks back at him.

If it wasn’t _Jack_ , Bitty would say that they’re flirting, but it _is_ Jack and Jack wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t.

Jack’s foot bumps against Bitty’s under the table and he doesn’t pull it away.

Now, what is Bitty supposed to think about _that_?

“Bittle,” Jack says.

Bitty quickly pulls his feet away. He doesn’t want to look at Jack. He doesn’t want to know what shade of red his face is right now. Bitty blinks at Jack, hoping that his expression is innocent enough and doesn’t hold any traces of _I just seriously considered playing footsie with Jack Zimmermann_. “Jack,” Bitty says.

“You should come to our next game. If you want. I could get you a ticket.”

“I…” _Was not expecting that_. “Yes, sure,” Bitty says, “I’d love to.” How could he say no to that?

“Good,” Jack says.

“You’re gonna have to promise that you’ll score, though,” Bitty says.

“Maybe I’ll even score twice.”

“Now, Mister Zimmermann, don’t get cocky.”

Jack laughs.

Bitty is so gone for this boy.

*

Jack knows that he comes to _Sally’s_ a lot. He likes the food, the coffee is great, and there’s something strangely calming about all those pastel colors and the smell of freshly baked cookies.

The Halloween decorations, all over the bakery when he first came here, are long gone and have been replaced by lights on strings and candy canes and poinsettia plants. Snow is falling outside. Christmas songs are playing.

He doesn’t come here because of Eric.

Granted, he comes here late in the day because he knows that Eric is more likely to have time to talk to him then, but he’s also taken a keen liking to Sally. She knows nothing whatsoever about hockey and constantly tries to rope him into conversations about baseball. Needless to say, Jack now knows more about baseball than he ever thought he would.

He’s the last one around today. _Sally’s_ is closing in fifteen minutes and Eric has yet to make an appearance. Not that Jack is waiting for him.

Eric is probably busy trying out new wintery recipes. He was texting Jack about cinnamon for hours the other day and Jack didn’t really understand much of it, because if there’s one thing he can’t do it’s baking, but he still enjoyed himself immensely.

There’s something about Eric that makes him smile. It’s not just that he gets so passionate about baking ingredients. It’s the way he talks and chirps Jack about not knowing how to use emojis and the way he is around people.

He’s so easy to like.

And Jack finds it so easy to be himself around him.

He looks up when the kitchen door opens and Eric comes through, flour on his cheek, his apron spattered with chocolate. He waves at Jack and then ducks behind the counter to talk to Sally.

Jack is too far away to hear what they’re talking about and he doesn’t stare, even though, admittedly, Eric is also very easy to stare at.

He’s not surprised when Eric sits down at his table a few minutes later, the apron gone, the flour on his cheek wiped off. “Jack, hey.”

“Bittle,” Jack says. “I liked the cherry pie.”

“Is there any–” Eric trails off when his phone chimes. He pulls it out of his pocket, smiles, shakes his head, and locks it.

Jack doesn’t want to pry. They’re friends, in a way, but they’ve never really talked about their private lives. Jack doesn’t have a private life to speak of anyway, but that’s not the point. He’s curious. “Your… girlfriend?” Jack asks, and then adds, “Or boyfriend?”

“Just a friend from Samwell.” Eric regards him for a moment and there’s something defiant in his eyes when he says, “Definitely not a girlfriend.”

“Ah,” Jack says, because what else is he supposed to say?

Part of him wants to tell Eric the truth.

Eric is a decent person. The kind of person who can keep a secret. But the thing about the truth is, once it’s out there, he can’t take it back. And Jack isn’t ready for that. This is not a secret he shares lightly. It’s a secret he shares with hardly anyone at all.

Anyway, Jack doesn’t have actual experience with dating guys. The thing with Kent was, well… they weren’t dating. Anyway, Jack doesn’t go around looking for someone to date; he’s too busy for that. He’s bad at letting people in, and isn’t that the point of a relationship? Letting someone in?

Eric frowns at him. Maybe _ah_ wasn’t that great of a thing to say after all.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Jack asks.

Eric’s frown only deepens. Then he scrunches up his nose and it’s gone. “No, I mean, I’m busy and… I’ve only lived here for a couple of months, it’s not that easy to, y’know… find someone. I mean, you don’t know, but…”

Jack does know. He doesn’t tell Eric, though. “It just takes time, Bittle,” he says, hoping that it’s at least a little reassuring.

Whoever will end up with Eric one day will be a very lucky guy.

Jack allows himself half a second to think about what it would be like if he was that very lucky guy. If he was the guy who got to take Eric out on dates and kiss him in the morning and just… have him around.

Jack says goodbye to Eric and leaves before he can do something ridiculous like fall for this tiny southern baker. Who happens to love hockey. Who has the brightest smile Jack has ever seen. Who makes him feel so comfortable when he’s around him.

Maybe it’s already too late for that.

*

“Eric, are you closing up?”

Bitty nods. He has a set of keys and he doesn’t want to keep Sally. And he doesn’t want to leave yet anyway. Jack is still here, sitting at the counter, his slice of pie half-eaten, completely forgotten. He’s been talking about hockey for the last half hour. Bitty wasn’t going to stop him.

Sally flips over the sign at the door to _closed_ before she goes and calls, “Bye, boys,” waving as she walks away.

“Oh,” Jack says, glancing at the door, then at Bitty, then at his pie. “Sorry. I lost track of time.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind the company.”

Jack lets out a sigh and says, “Okay.”

“So, you were saying about the Schooners?”

Bitty honestly can’t believe that he gets to listen to Jack Zimmermann talk about his hockey games while he puts up chairs and sweeps up pie crumbs. Jack finishes his pie and Bitty steals away his plate. He also can’t believe that Jack wants to stick around to talk to him, that he keeps getting him tickets for games, that he invited him to the rink. Ransom completely lost his shit when Bitty told him that Jack introduced him to Alexei Mashkov.

This is his life now. Jack is his friend.

Providence doesn’t hate him anymore.

“Can I ask you something?” Jack says when Bitty is mostly done cleaning up and puts the last dark chocolate cookie on a napkin and hands it to Jack. “How did you end up here?”

“Here? In Providence?” Bitty sits down on the stool next to Jack, very well aware that their knees are almost touching.

He tells Jack about Sally and about her plans to retire in a few years. He tells him about the bakery, tells him that it might be his one day. He still isn’t confident enough to say that it _will_ be his. Too much can happen in a couple of years.

Jack smiles and looks around before his eyes fall on Bitty again. “Yeah, I can see you owning this place.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely,” Jack says.

And there’s something in the way he looks at Bitty. Something that makes Bitty think that maybe they aren’t _just_ friends. And, okay, Bitty isn’t a stranger to wishful thinking. He’s probably making this up.

Jack checks his phone, which is a bit of a rarity, then he puts it down on the counter, his eyes back on Bitty, his smile gentle.

He has got to be imagining this.

Because this is Jack. Who quite possibly can’t tell the difference between being nice and flirting.

It doesn’t really make Bitty’s life easier that Jack is being so terribly nice to him. Sure, he chirps him to hell and back as well, but Bitty still can’t shake that feeling. That this is _more_. It’s definitely more for Bitty. Which is all kinds of unfortunate. Realistically speaking, he knows that this, him and Jack, is never going to happen, but a boy can dream, right?

“So,” Bitty says. Technically he’s done. He just has to turn off the lights and lock the door and he’s good to go. Jack doesn’t look like he’s too keen on leaving, though. And Bitty isn’t either. “What are you doing for the holidays?”

“I’m going home,” Jack says. “To Montreal.”

“Right, Montreal,” Bitty says. _Right_. Jack’s family lives in Canada. “That sounds nice.”

“What about you? Are you going home?”

“Nah, I’m trying to save up some money. And, well, the holidays are a busy time and Sally’s gonna need help around here. We’re closed on Christmas, but other than that…” He shrugs. “Anyway, I volunteered to come in.”

Jack shifts, his knees now touching Bitty’s. “That’s nice of you.”

“I do my best,” Bitty says and he hopes that is voice isn’t actually as wobbly as it sounds to his own ears.

“I’d love to take one of your pies home with me, but I guess that’d be impractical. And maybe also illegal. I’m not sure how they feel about pies on planes.”

“Maybe I can hook you up with a good recipe instead.” Bitty grins. “But then I want photographic evidence of the finished pie.”

“That could be arranged. Although I’m a little scared that you’ll never talk to me again if I butcher one of your pie recipes.”

“We’ll see,” Bitty says. He leans across the counter to get a pen and paper from behind the register. His knee is pressed against Jack’s now and Bitty makes a point in scooting back a little when he settles down again.

That was just a casual touch. It happens. You bump into people, your knees touch, your arms touch. _It happens_.

Bitty doesn’t even want to think about what it would be like if Jack was touching him deliberately, with purpose. Those hands on him, those lips on his skin. Bitty bites his lip and focuses on the recipe he’s jotting down for Jack. It’s the one for the pecan pie he made him for bringing back his phone.

He hands over the slip of paper and Jack carefully folds it and tucks it into the pocket of his jacket. “Thanks, Bittle. I won’t forget about the pictures, I promise.”

“Can’t wait,” Bitty says.

“Well…” Jack slides off his stool. That’s it, then. “I should go.”

“Right.” Bitty stands up as well, staring up at Jack. “I’ll see you… next year, I guess?”

“I’ll swing by before New Year’s, I’m not staying in Montreal for that long,” Jack says. “And I promised I’d text you, didn’t I?”

Bitty laughs and, on a whim, wraps his arms around Jack. Such a bad, terrible, abysmal idea. He’s literally hugging 200 pounds of hockey player and Jack is hugging him back and it’s… quite the experience. Bitty doesn’t want to let go.

“Happy holidays and have fun with your family,” Bitty chokes out.

Jack pats him on the back. “Happy holidays, Bittle.”

He smiles at Bitty before he leaves, bundled in his coat, a Falconers beanie on his head, waving at Bitty through the window out front like he always does.

As soon as he’s gone and out of sight, Bitty sits back down and stares into space for a minute or two. He needs to get over this. Or he needs to do something, but what is he supposed to do, he can hardly ask Jack out, because he already knows the answer to that question and–

Jack’s phone is still on the counter.

“Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty mutters and picks up the phone. He gets his jacket and his scarf and his hat and his gloves and rushes outside, fumbling with the key as he locks up. He’ll come back to turn off the lights, but he needs to get that phone back to Jack first.

Jack thankfully hasn’t made it that far yet. He’s down the block, a dark figure in the glow of the streetlights, snow falling around him. Bitty recognizes him by his beanie.

“Jack,” he shouts and skids down the sidewalk, coming to a rather unsteady halt next to Jack. “You forgot your phone.”

“I did?”

Bitty holds it out to him. “You did.”

“Thanks, Bittle,” Jack says and takes it from him, their fingers brushing.

Bitty suddenly regrets putting on gloves.

Jack pockets his phone and says, “Guess we’re finally even.”

“Hey, we were even when I made you that pie.”

Jack laughs, breath clouding in the cold winter air. A snowflake lands right on the tip of his nose and melts away. “Sorry, of course we were.”

Honestly, Bitty would be at least 98 percent less confused if Jack stopped looking at him so fondly. Okay, Bitty also looks at his friends with a certain fondness, but, and he’s definitely not making this up, he’s not looking at them like Jack looks at him.

“Jack,” Bitty says. He’s going to regret this. He’s going to regret this so much that he’ll have to bury himself under ten blankets and never come out of his apartment ever again. “Do you want to hang out sometime?” Because, what if he doesn’t know the answer to that question? What if Jack surprises him? “Y’know,” Bitty goes on, “you and me.” _A date_. “I could make dinner.”

“I–” Jack looks down at his shoes. “Bittle, I don’t–”

“It’s fine,” Bitty interrupts. Boy, does he regret this. “It’s okay. I get it. No worries. Let’s pretend I never said that.” He just messed everything up, didn’t he? “Night, Jack.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply and shuffles off as fast as he dares on the snowy sidewalk, back to the bakery.

He still has to turn off those damn lights.

*

Jack watches Eric walk away, the flurries of snow slowly swallowing him up. He knows that he shouldn’t be watching him walk away. He should go after him, but he can’t bring himself to move.

He wouldn’t know what to say to Eric once he catches up with him. _I want this, but I don’t know how to allow myself to have this?_

He does want this. He wants Eric. But Jack can’t even wrap his head around what this would mean for him. For his career. Jack has no illusions. He knows that, statistically, he can’t be the only player in the NHL who isn’t straight. He isn’t the only one. He thinks of Kent, of how they’re keeping this secret for each other.

Jack has never really thought about whether or not it would remain a secret for the rest of his career.

That’s a lie. He has thought about it. He dismissed the thought, though.

Without thinking about it, Jack starts walking, not back home but back towards the bakery. Maybe Eric would understand. That, at least for now, nobody could know about them. Maybe this could work. Maybe–

Jack starts running.

It’s a slippery business, but he needs to explain this to Eric. He wasn’t saying no. He understands that his stammering sounded like a no, he understands why Eric walked away, but he needs to tell him that he wants to say yes so much that it nearly kills him, but that he doesn’t know how, that he can’t make any promises.

Eric is locking the bakery’s door, keys jingling. He nearly drops them when he spots Jack. “Jack, what…”

“Bitty,” Jacks says and he doesn’t really know where to go from there, so he just leans down and kisses him, because he needs him to understand that he wasn’t saying no. Obviously, he could have just said so. But this is better.

Eric makes a surprised noise, fingers clenching in the lapels of Jack’s coat and then he gasps and kisses Jack back. It’s clumsy at first, but only until Eric moves his arms, wraps them around Jack’s neck and deepens their kiss.

“I’d love to have dinner with you when I get back from Montreal,” Jack whispers against Eric’s lips.

“Okay,” Eric says. It comes out a little breathless.

Jack kisses him again. And again. And Eric is back on his tiptoes and melts against him and Jack thinks he could stand out here forever, kissing Eric Bittle, with snowflakes swirling around them and with Eric’s gloved fingers on his cheeks.

When he pulls away, Eric’s cheeks are flushed and he’s covered in melting snow.

Jack never ever wants to forget this. He never ever wants this to end. “Can I walk you home?” he asks.

Eric huffs out a laugh. “Okay,” he says.

Jack isn’t sure if he’s ever been this happy in his entire life.

*

Bitty’s vocabulary has been decimated to one word and it’s all Jack Zimmermann’s fault. Jack smiles at him, his features soft. Bitty takes him by the hand and pulls him along through the streets of Providence.

Good lord, Providence _loves_ him. And Bitty loves it right back.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @zimmermaenner on tumblr if you wanna say hi :)
> 
> And, as always, kudos and comments are very much appreciated!


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